what's new pussy cat

Who is this, you wonder. Above is a photo of my brother/about-to-be-ex-roommate dancing with his lady friend Katy. While the stories I have surrounding this duo are plentiful - the most recent event involved following the brother home in a car at a snails pace during one of his massive pout sessions on July 5th at approx 1 in the morning while he "walked home" in swim trunks and nothing more from our 4th of July pool party - I will save you the tic tocs with unnecessary details about the PDA-consumed couple. The reason this picture caught my eye and ended up on my blog today is because it was taken at a baseball game last Friday night that I attended AND in the far right corner of the photo you'll notice - it's me! I am in the candid shot along with the twin sister chattin' up a storm with an old high school friend. Correction: I chatted while the twin nervously stared into space signaling me to shut up so we could get the heck out of dodge. Curiousity wants to know: how many photographs exist that include me as the "strange bystander" in the background. My guess is millions. Yes millions.

Time to get physical. Lets?

I was once all about routine when it comes to exercise. I was victim to a standard set by yours truly, burning cals and pumping iron religously due to a wicked regimne that was borderline manic. Circumstances and priorities have changed and I no longer maintain the nazi mentality in which skipping a daily workout is equivalent to failure. Nowadays I am happy when I make it to the gym 3-4 times per week compared to my 2-a-days several years ago and favor the mental benefits reaped over the physical. Morning, noon or night I try to squeeze in 30 minutes of something every single day and if I succeed, fantastic! If not I do not ridicule myself like I once did. I commend myself for ignoring the growls of my belly like a fat wolf in heat in exchange for a 45 minute stint at the gym during my lunch hour. It's something I can say "hey, good for you" about. Lunch hour workouts don't happen every day - once a week is more practical. In fact, this afternoon at the gym I was greeted by a friendly gal behind the counter in the lobby, a gal I don't recall meeting ever in my life, who threw me a smirk while whispering "Now I haven't seen YOU in awhile!" Due to my natural yet strange desire to overload perfect strangers on the 411, I blurt in an untimely defense "WELLLLL that's because I usually come in the evening but sometimes I opt to run outsisde if the weather's behaving - oh and I've also been running Pinnacle so that could add to the absense" and somehow in my mind I felt satisfied having displayed such an outburst. Who are you my life coach? Is she keeping tabs back there behind the counter? This the gym so ill-equipped they maintain your membership details in a three ring notepad and renew monthly memberships by replacing the colored dot on the lamented membership card with a new dot different color. This is also the one and only gym within a 50 mile radius that doesn't accept debit but kindly accepts your check. Does anyone own a checkbook?

I am going somewhere with this.

I managed to make it to the gym today during lunch and I will aim for tomorrow but there are obstacles. Time constraints is always a big issue and I don't enjoy feeling rushed through my workout. My mentality - while no longer naxi yet still vigorous when it comes to workouts - requires a full hour of activity or I feel I have slacked. But the real problem is there's something about that sense of accomplishment mixed with disgust that gets to me on my way back to work post exercise. Accomplishment for the effort, disgust because I am left feeling like someone dipped me in toilet water and then draped me in clean clothes. Time doesn't allow for a shower so basically I bathe myself quickly by means of a towel and soap in front of the bathroom sink. Some lunch time workouts require a bit more TLC than others. Unfresh best describes the sentiment. My hair is reminiscent of a wet dog. Even though I've "washed" my body is still sweating profusely through my cotton dress leaving a distinct circle of sweat on my back for the world to see and, unbeknownst to me, possibly smell. On the way back to work the AC in my car is working so hard I am barely pushing 30 mph as I attempt to dry my hair in front of the vents. Folks that's what I call determination.

Let's talk about another word often associated with working out. It's a word called dedication. You either have it in your bones or you don't. For me dedication is consistency. It's putting your heart over the bar and taking a leap without room for discussion. I love mid day workouts because (a) the opportunity it allows for later in the day when I would normally workout and (b) there is no monkey on my back following me around from mahcine to machine suggesting we combine efforts and alternate sets. I do miss the people watching [judging] however. Today, 2 minutes into my extreme Gaunlet routine my eyes focused on what I had been staring at for a painful 120 seconds. What is this I see?

WHAT THE?




A better look, shall we?



EVEN THE SHOES?




















I love how he opted for the "special stationary" bicycle not just your average run of the mill stationary. Oh no sir - this man is in training! I know what you are thinking. Trust me I do. I thought the same thing upon my initial judgment: he rode up to the gym on his fancy bicycle and likely a helmet for safety percautions. He made a pit stop at the gym to cool down on the stationary, put in an extra 5 on the bike before pedalin' it back to the house on the real deal. I checked you suckers: there was NO bike outside. Maybe he hid it? Why would he do that? He was so dang intimidating my hand was shaking as I nonchalantly snapped a pic kudos to the iPhone. What a stud. You know, I bet he's training for a triathalon. This guy is Mr. Determination. It's good to have guys like him around to provide us with ambition. He is not much different from Superman in my book.

For legal purposes let it be known I intended to place one of those black boxes over the biker's face for his protection but then laughed to myself at the notion. Yeah right. Who wouldn't want to be this guy?

Later aligators!
~ J

REVELATIONS

I recently came out of the closet, to myself and friends, that I am a Lionel Ritchie fan. Laugh if you must. I would have scoffed at the suggesion a week ago but after a recent listen to the outstanding compact disk titled "Truly: The Love Songs" it was discovered that I transpose into that sappy, wacky girl I usually mock. Who knew I had it in me! Once, Twice, Three Times a Lady = magic. I wonder if there is a Spanish version "Uno, Dos, Tres Tiempo Senora." Lionel had the ladies melting with his words and criminal good looks.

I like to think Lionel is channeling an inviting "come hither" with his devilish charm and overpowering sex appeal. You know what else? I bet he got there on his own without direction from the photographer on set that day. Lionel, you nailed it buddy.



















One night while in bed (prior to falling asleep pervs) Matt and I chatted up a storm discussing our shared fondness for Lionel. We considered the classic "Say You Say Me" for our wedding song, since we are nagged regularly about the necessity of finding "our song", but something really weird happens mid-song with that tune. Lionel takes us on an adventure from heart felt melody turned 80's boombox jam beginning with "So you think you know the answers - oh no". What does one do on the dance floor during this completely unfitting diddy? I envision a floor full of bewildered folks looking around the room for suggestions. Maybe this is the ideal time to throw the bouquet. Warning: do it quickly because within minutes Lionel will take us back down for one more round of chorus.

For two ugly people John and Kate have 8 good looking kiddos. Science - it's a funny thing.

I just saw a photo of the Jonas Brothers in US Weekly and it is the first photo I have seen of the young lads. I have not been living under a rock, I just don't care. No offense teeny boopers but they truly are not good looking dudes. In fact, one looks like he's a 45 year old Art History teacher from my old high school. America what is wrong with you?

I am starting to believe the monstrous "bump" on my forehead is permanent. This thing has been an annoyance in my life for a week. I've had to implement bandaids and hats into my daily wardrobe. Matt calls it my horn and we're patiently waiting to see if another grows adjacent to my current malady. If I were to make a severe turn without warning I could easily poke someone's eye out. It hurts like the dickens. Should it scare me that webmd resulted with zero potential explanations?

Phone sex. That's what it's all about! Seriously, what is it all about? A friend of mine revealed to me last night that she regularly partakes in such heinous acts with her college "F" buddy. Well that's just great. I couldn't wash the image of her lying on the bed blackberry in one hand - other hand - sick. Maybe I am being closed minded but how does one get into such a thing? I am all about experimenting, and I like to think I am a pretty sexual girl, but this no way jose. I'm hanging up the phone. I am the kind of girl that fakes it hoping to god no one can hear me "yeah, yeah that feels great where is your hand" while catching a late night rerun of a Real World Road Rules The Duel 2 episode. I'm not a talker. I hate it when asked "talk dirty to me baby" because I don't know what to say that won't sound like something straight out of a 1978 porn flick. Can't we just enjoy the moment without allowing a series of weird questions to ruin the fun? In reality with the phone sex it's all about creative dialogue. I simply am not that descriptive. Plus, I hate to say the word vagina and I detest it's sister name so how do we beat around that bush - no pun intended. I mean, on the surface the concept is appealing and all but getting down to the nitty gritty - no thank you. The kicker: my friend lives with her parents at present time. "DAAAD, I'M ON THE PHONE!"

Got some time on your hands? During my down time I enjoy shooting the breeze with automated customer service reps. It's like chating with a real person but don't be fooled. As paypal's "Sarah" indicates "Even though I’d like to be a real person, I’m not." Astonishing! The following is an exerpt of my web communication with Sarah this morning [cut and pasted straight from the paypal website]:

Sarah - PayPal :
Hello, I’m Sarah and I’m here to answer your questions about PayPal. Even though I’d like to be a real person, I’m not. I’m programmed to answer your questions. How can I help you?
You :
how are you?
Sarah - PayPal :
I'm doing OK. You?
You :
Not great
Sarah - PayPal :
I'm sorry. I hope you feel better.How can I help you?
You :
I need to know what the weather is going to be like around 5 pm this evening. Have a big outing planned.
Sarah - PayPal :
Right. Please let me know if you have any other questions.
You :
Weather?
Sarah - PayPal :
From my office I can see a bit of blue sky with a few clouds. How can I help you?
You: great! where are you located?
Sarah - Paypal: I have a cozy little server right here at Paypal.

Just when I thought Sarah would disappoint she came through like a chimp - or is that a champ? I wanted to continue the playful banter, seeing all sorts of avenues to explore here, but envisioned some jackass secret paypal officer knocking on my door throwing a transcript of my chat with Sarah in my face, reading me my rights having committed some sort of cyber law, to be televised at my humiliating expense on Dateline later.

Last night after Bunko - eh hem - let me reiterate late last night after Bunko I wrote a country song - in my head - and it was beautiful. I can't remember it today. It was one of those painful, hard to listen to songs that you play over and over again when dabbling with masochistic behavior following a break-up or pity party of one. There were lyrics and a melody. For the record, I am not a country music fan which makes the song that more phenomenal. Speaking of that last word, I knew a guy that pronounced "ph" words with the p sound. I often wondered why he didn't pick a synonym to "penomenal" because it just sounded retarted. It was one of his favorite words.

I have no plans this weekend and I'm lovin' it. Gonna miss puppethead.

xoxo -
J

Why are my eyes always bigger than my stomach? I just devoured a Schlotzskys small turkey original sandwhich, and by small I mean fit for a king, in less than 5 minutes like a rabid beast. Since we're talking about it, the thing wasn’t even tasty going down. In fact, once fullness ensued, I tried to talk myself out of additional bites but somewhere embedded in my subconscious a voice lingers telling me not to let food go to waste (thanks John and Sue.) I find myself forcing a swallow or two, not without fight by my gag reflex, to get the half chewed up meat and bread down the esophagus to the waiting room, aka the belly, where it’ll inevitably meet it’s doom causing me turmoil later back at work. When will I learn? That’s right, never. I was brainwashed to clean my plate for 18 years. It’s a wonder how I remain in decent shape. Dang, I'm comatose. In that case…

WHIPLASH!

Because it never gets old....



Look at the smirk on that primate’s face. “Crowds”, he says. “Listen dawg, I’ve gots to be out of here by 3 pm, no later, to make my flight to LAX. Sam Ronson is dj’ing the T mobile event tonight and I've got VIP tickets to Hyde. Lets give them one more lap, I throw the hat, and we're out.”


I like how Whip's approach is non-chalant, barely holding on to the rope as if he's done this a time or two before. Are they in a gymnasium?

I've been pensive this week - there is a lot weighing on this girl. Living amongst a fog that I can't seem to escape. I need laughter. Maybe John Lennon had it right all these years and all you really need is love. On the other hand, as Alice in Chains would declare with no room for disagreement, "somethings gotta turn out right"...

'tis the weekend to be jolly, by golly...I need a remedy!

~ J

THE CROSSROAD

open your eyes
let you see me

we’ve come full circle
what will be will be

I know it’s not much
but enough for now

fear terrifying tomorrow
we’ll make it somehow

your pain hurts my heart
gotta be true to your soul

let's make a new start
help me make you whole

the darkest of times
will never push me away

we’ll sleep on this tonight
pray for a better day

faith vital to us now
manifestation destroys will

darling give it awhile
and allow time to heal

I admire you my love
keep an open mind

let the plan unfold
an opportunity you'll find

search deep for strength
to get past this hour

embrace the wind of change
it’s within your power

with all my strength
try to release your burden

you push me away
and now we're both left hurtin'

i want to fix your ache
i wish I could make this right

it's time to let your guard down
don't pick another fight

where we'll be tomorrow
only time can tell

the bond in love between us
i know will never fail

so show me that smile
let me see gleam in your eye

can I make you happy
I will never cease to try

In memory...

Matthew oh Matthew. So much to miss. Where do I start?

A tear fills my eye when I think I will never get to witness another one of your classic mad cleaning frenzies. Man that was fun. Remember that night you ended up crying in a fetal position? Dang I wish I had captured that on kodak. I know Ellie and Nikki will never forget that night by the pool where you invited me on one of your guilt trips in front of everyone. I yearn for more. Nikki really should have us all back for another trip soon. With a fondness I will always remember that night four people drove around town inebriated while two others walked the streets looking for a dog you purposely hid in the suitcase. We should have thanked you for the exercise. I know all the straight men who attended Kati and Ashley's Christmas rendezvous will never be able to numb themselves enough to wash that image of you breaking it down to Britany Spears' Womanizer. I would have never guessed you could do the splits. It breaks my heart that Hessica will not know what to do with herself when she finds herself getting ready to hit Midtown at 1 am without you there to make her over like a barbie doll. Shucks. I think it's a safe bet to suggest she's going to miss the derrogatory comments and trash talk more, though. Here's a funny one: remember when you got mad at Matt for asking you not to walk out of the theatre until the movie was over? Matt's a little irrational at times. How dare he expect you to be polite.

I'll miss you kiddo and that high pictched but oddly British sounding pitch.

WATCH OUT 'BAMA!

It's the eye of the tiger it's the cream of the fight...

The high price of beauty my friends. The fight is tough on the 'ole pocketbook and unforgiving to time. I had an extraordinarily hectic morning plucking, shaving, exfoliating, snipping (don't worry with details). The sky gave promise to a nice spring-like day inspiring me to allot an extra 20 minutes to the pain-in-the-ass process of sunless self tanning. Somewhere shortly after my 28th birthday I became an obsessive anti-sun freak consquently giving up on tanning the old fashioned way: the tanning bed. Under these circumstances I am left with two options: succomb to pastiness for life or acquanit myself with the sunless tanning way of living. After looking at pictures of yours truly taken last weekend in the overcast city of Dallas I quickly opted for #2. Applying sunless tanner, which is an art I have hardly perfected, is a chore. I came close to throwing in the towel following my recent jounrey for color resulting with arms and legs of an oompa loompa and my own bofriend delicately suggesting I "put on pants" when he noticed my orange ankles as I walked outside one Sunday afternoon in a mini dress and sandals. Rejected by my own boyfriend?

I kept myself in check this morning during the expedition for glow, reminding myself more is less - or in the case of sunless tanner is more essential? I am so bad when it comes to necessary details. I continued my daily morning ritual as my nude bod marinated in the Sublime deep tan lotion feeling a little silly but a glimpse in the mirror proved the stuff was kicking in like Flynn. I deliberately skipped out on deodorant this morning because, as trial and error has shown, I didn't wanna end up with what would look like filthy underarms due to a bad concoction of Sublime and invisble solid. Trust this girl, it happens. Around 11:30 this morning my body bluntly reminded me with a boldness of my lack of anti perspirant. Luckily for those with whom I work I rememebred to pack a stick of shower clean Degree this morning. The bottle states, without room for disagreement, Invisble Solid. By invisible they must mean as you apply the product transforming to detectable the second you drape your bod with clothing. Every morning I end up with white smudgy shit on my top and every morning I find myself fighting time trying to remove the white smudgy shit from my top before heading out the door.

Let's recap. Sun, bad. Beauty games are a bitch. Lotsa money spent. All that jazz. So during lunch I spent a guilt inducing, large sum of cash on anti-aging lotion. This was not an impulse buy - premeditated. I am not too humble to admit that one of my worst fears in life is aging - not in number rather the physical sign of making the transition from young to middle aged. Some call it vanity, but I think it's our need to look good to feel good. I am trying to adopt the "grow old gracefully" mantra but while that's trying to soak in I'm taking all measures available, sans going under the knife, to prevent that I've had a tough life look I tragically see on aged faces. I am not one of those girls that will declare I will never have surgery because I don't know what my 40's and 50's will bring to my face, but I am doing all I can now to get that 23 year old face back. I completely took my skin for granted during the years of my youth. I did. It wasn't until my late 20's before washing my face at night became a religious regimine. I can remember sunbathing and making every attempt possible to get my face as dark as dirt. On one hot summer day when I was 17 I anxiously prepared for a date by sunbathing all day while struggling with a remedy to doctor a gigantic pimple that was growing with urgency on my right cheek. I drenched my bod in baby oil and hopped on a towel on the back deck of my house directly under the sun while a stridex pad draped my cheek attempting to medicate my face while toasting my naked skin for 4 hours. No exaggeration: the result was shockingly similar to a 4 degree burn victim. I remember the look of terror on my father's face when I walked insdie. I recall there was even talk of a hospital visit. I was reprimanded and told I was going to have serious problems with scarring "for life". That was a little outlandish dad but yeah, I would have preferred the zit to looking like freddie crougar on my date that evening. I honestly didn't know how to explain the situation when asked about it and no one in their right mind could get away with trying the I'll pretend I don't notice stunt.

[REWIND 17 HOURS]

I struggle to write as my fingers are completely numb from the cold. It's as if I am typing with someone elses' deceased fingers. It's sick, I agree.

Tonight after happy hour I was cooking a batch of french fries in the conventional oven when out of nowhere my great friend Ellie B's voice popped into my head. Inspired by this revelation I decided to write a bit about what I love about some of the dearest people in my life. Cheesy, sure. I've been in a fantastic mood this week and allow me to share some sunshine with you. Oh goodness that made me nauseous.

Why do I love Ellie? I love that high pitched country girl voice she gets when she's had more than 2 beers. It's the "did ya get ya hair did" voice. She is always the life of the party the few times we get to hang out anymore. If you are ever in need of the most random item no matter where you are, Ellie has it in her purse. This girl ain't shy and she is always willing to help without complaint! Ellie low rides like no other.

Nikki is the nurturer. Nik is a cheerful gal. She bestows all sorts of good qualities but she won't hesitate to tell you what she is thinking no matter how potentially painful. I like to think Nik's real daddy is African American because of Nikki's mmmhmmm's and her regular use of mmm mmm mmm as if in immense disbelief. She has a habit of trying to finish sentences with regulatiry almost turing it into a game. It's like she is trying to guess what I am going to say next. Nik has mad dance skillz and makes a mean tequila shot. I can't wait until she moves back to town. [wink]

Good 'ole Jessica. What's not to love? Her constant switch from negative to positive in her painfully witty way? Jess' laugh resembles that of Kitty on the 70's show. Jess has a tendency to make out with randoms. Oh geez, not true. Not usually true. Jess is very giving oftentimes putting others before herself. Jessica gets sappy on the wine.

You never know what you're gonna get with Stacie. Being in her presence is like walking on a fine peice of ice. When she's had a little too much to drink she transforms into the one eye texter. I also love that she has no qualms about implemtning crutches and arm slings into her wardrobe on a bi-monthly basis. Stacie has a contagious laugh. Stacie has a tendency to make out with randoms. Oh geez. Relax.

Randall R. is as genuine as all get out. RR has a great laugh and is gifted with charisma. He has a way with words and employs a pouty "woe is me" every now and then that leaves me in stitches. Randall will keep you on your toes. I am still a little upset about that time he pissed my couch but let's let bygones be bygones shall we? That time Randall and I won the dance challenge back in '07 for our choreographed "midnight justice" routine is one of the best moments of my life. I really wish Randall had consulted with his physician before breaking it down Tabitha style. One question Randall: what in the world did you ever do with my favorite pair of rock-n-republic jeans?

Matt C. I love his doggy style but more than that I love it that he's finally admitted to being a lesbian. My new nickname for Matt is the redcard bandit being the only man - well human being - I have seen get kicked out of an entire season in a recreational adult soccer league. He means well. Except for that time he followed that guy to the Clinton library....you're my favorite.

Jacob Z. Two hours ago I might have skipped over this dude but I've since forgiven the 30 year old boy for trusting his instinct that sunflower seed shells should be thrown down the side of the sink that doesn't drain. I'll admit it bothered me when my napkin failed to retain all the saliva soaked seeds that ended up on my bare hand, but I managed to keep my cool. Okay for a split second I recall maybe shouting "f'ing disgusting" and "how dumb can you be and how are you a highly educated accountant" but I realize in retrospect it was all due to shock. Jacob, like every other member of my family, is witty and kind even though he doesn't have a neat freak bone in his body. I still wonder how he convinced his girlfriend to EVER set foot in that bedroom of his. Jake has a very kind heart and spent a lot of money at my birthday dinner at my fav steakhouse and I try to remember moments such as my birthday when I'm taking out the trash for the third time in a week. Oh, roommates. We love to hate them. Reverse it. No scratch it.

I'm sweating bullets now as a result of Friday fever. I'm out like the count.

HOWDY do! End of the week synopsis on daily wisdom...

Wednesday: Remember to employ optimism when things look grim! My brother is a good happy guy, I'll give him that, but boy oh boy he can be negative when the only thing left to hang on to is optimisim. This morning he was giving one of his "woe is me" sagas [Randall says it best] and I turned to the positive side of things which, in effect, caused him to say "you know, you're right". Of course I am dirty dog! I also realized that when I am alone I stay up way too late. If I were single I'd be horribly sleep deprived but I'd probably be a lot thinner. In Matt's absence I realize he and I really enjoy to eat together. A lot.

Thursday: One of my goals this year is to practice patience. It's so much easier to cave into a hasty demeanor. It takes tremendous will from me to quiet my mind in such predicaments. I am getting better at being a little more enduring and I am proud of myself. Tonight as 11 ladies and one gent rolled dice I managed to insert a little patience into the challenge. Those of you who've never played - especially with my feisty group - it's a nerve wracking game of 6's and it's easy to switch to ornery. Despite one minor breakdown following a snide suggestion that I cheated on a roll (bitch), I was a good girl this evening. I stuck around and chatted for a couple of hours with 2 of my favorite girl friends and found myself crawling into bed, after high tailin' it into my house and stripping off every piece of clothing, at 12:45. YIKES. That is late for this girl. It was worth it in the end because I thoroughly enjoyed the stimulating coversation. Not to change the subject but that Michelle Abu Hamileiha [no idea how to spell] can shake her thang, ya'll. It's rather intimidating - and a little awkward! She broke it down for us dirty style. I've never seen a white girl move like that!

Friday is here! It's Superbowl weekend and that means absolutely nothing to me. I'm excited about Matthew coming home and squeezing him until he winces. In other news, I have the Jack Russell fever and the only prescription is inviting a Jack Russell Terrier to come home with me. While chronically bored I googled some JR pics and came across this terrifying headline that broke my heart:

South Dakota Mountain Lion Gets Jack Russell

What a dick.

I have a handheld humidifer glued to my face this afternoon (a Walgreens steal at nine dollars and ninety nine cents). It's soothing! I am ready to get this weekend started so let's do it.

Ja-ne!